


More Than a Memory

by Its_York_Catch



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M, York lives au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-03 18:17:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5301803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_York_Catch/pseuds/Its_York_Catch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An alternate universe in which Agent York survives the events of the "Out of Mind" series and goes on to get a job at a ranch. There he bonds with the owners and tells them the story of how he got to this point in his life. He slowly becomes more accustomed to this lifestyle as he attempts to come to terms with his old one, but he finds out that moving on is harder than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> More Characters and tags will be added as they are included in the story.

York sits down at an empty table in the small diner, pretending not to notice when the table shifts as he places his helmet on it. A waitress walks over to his table and sets a glass of water down in front of him.

“What can I get you?” she asks.

“What’s the cheapest thing you’ve got on the menu?” he asks, not having looked at it yet.

“As far as entrées go, the chicken sandwich is cheapest, but many of the appetizers are cheaper,” she answers.

“How much for the sandwich?”

“Its $8.50.”

“I’ll have to do an appetizer then, otherwise I won’t be able to tip you enough.”

“Oh…um, well there’s a chicken wing appetizer for $6.00. It comes with ten wings. Or ther—”

“The chicken wings sound great, thanks,” he cuts her off and hands her the menu he still hasn’t touched until that moment. She smiles and walks away.

 _“What will you do after today? You’ll still need to eat,”_ Delta says in York’s mind.

 _I know that, D. I don’t know what I’m going to do about it though,_ he responds, pondering his options. _I’m sick of all the petty theft I’ve had to do, but there hasn’t been an opportunity for any freelance work in months. Besides, its just a matter of time before someone figures out who I am. But what else could I do?_

_“You could always find some other kind of employment, something safer than your current ‘employment’”_

_Sure, but what kind of job could I even get? I’m not qualified for anything…except lock picking, and in case you haven’t noticed, that’s not really in demand anymore._

_“I do not think I would put lock picking in your top five skills. There are plenty of other possibilities for you.”_

_Thanks, D. You really know how to cheer a guy up._

_“I am merely trying to assist.”_

York sighs. His reply to Delta is silenced before it begins by a tap on his shoulder. York turns to meet the gaze of an elderly man sitting at the table behind him.

“I know it’s not really my place,” the old man says, “but I couldn’t help but overhear what you said to the waitress. It sounds like you’re going through a rough patch right now.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” York replies, laughing weakly.

“Well I’ve got a spare room, you’re welcome to stay with us for a while until you get back on your feet.”

“Oh no. I couldn’t do that. After this meal I won’t have any money to p—“

“That doesn’t concern me. But I suppose if it would make you feel better you could lend me a hand with some stuff that I’m getting too old for, and we’ll call it even.”

 _“This is a great opportunity. Why are you hesitating?”_ Delta asks when York doesn’t say anything.

_I don’t know if I can trust him._

_“You don’t need to. You just need to work for him.”_

“What kinds of things you need help with?” York asks finally.

“Well that depends somewhat on your skills. However a big portion of it will be heavy lifting, mending fences, and things of that nature.” Seeing York’s raised eyebrow he adds, “my wife and I run a farm. We used to be able to handle things ourselves, but now…”

“Sure I’ll do it,” York says.

“Great. I’ll talk to you after you finish eating,” the man says, nodding toward the waitress walking over with a steaming plate of wings. York simply smiles and turns to dig in.

***

York walks out of the diner after paying for his meal and spots the man leaning against an old but well-kept red pickup truck.

“I never got your name,” the man says as York walks up.

“Name’s York,” he says, extending his hand.

“Joe,” the man replies, shaking York’s hand with a puzzled look.

“Oh, right. It’s a codename, but I’ve been using it so long it might as well be my name.”

“Ah, I see. So, you got a car?”

“No…do I need one?”

“Nah, just wondered if you wanted to follow me back to the farm, but in that case hop in,” he says turning to open the driver side door. After they’re both seat belted in he asks, “You have any things somewhere that you wanna pick up?”

“This is all I have,” York answers, indicating the small backpack at his feet.

“Oh. Uh, sorry,” he says as he puts the truck in drive and exits the lot.

“Don’t be. You are helping me after all.”

“I’m gladder about that now than ever. It’s such a shame that life can get so bad for some people.”

“Well it wasn’t always like this for me.”

_“I would recommend divulging as little information about your past as possible.”_

_Don’t worry, D. I won’t say anything compromising._

“That reminds me, can I ask you something?” the man asks and York nods, looking a little concerned. “I just wonder why you keep that armor, yet you have no money. Couldn’t you sell it for a good sum?”

“Yeah, I imagine I could get a pretty penny for this armor, but it just seems unnatural without it. Though, it’s nowhere near as awesome as my old armor.”

_“York—“_

_Chill, D._

“I can only imagine the things you’ve seen, but it makes sense. Though I don’t know if the animals will react kindly to the armor.”

“I can take it off around them. It’ll be nice for a change, it’s just been hard with all the constant traveling.”

“Well, only if you’re comfortable. But look, here we are.”

The old man pulls into a surprisingly smooth gravel driveway, parking next to the backdoor of the teal two story house. The house isn’t large by any means, but it looks the opposite of cramped. In the window closest to them York sees a large black dog looking at them, not barking, but simply seeming excited to see them. On the left side of the driveway is a large green pasture with several horses grazing in it. The brown of the fences is clearly faded, but otherwise they appear maintained. Farther back on the property is a classic style red barn with white trim and a black sloping roof. _I thought they stopped building them like that hundreds of years ago,_ York thinks. To the right of the barn is a chicken coop, and behind that there are more fields that eventually turn into a woods.

The two men get out of the truck as York takes it all in. _I think I’m going to like it here._

_“It is quite a relief from our usual surroundings.”_

“Let’s go inside so I can show you your room, and you can meet my wife. And Maya.”

“Is that your daughter?”

“Oh no, it’s our black lab. We never had any kids.”

“Ah…sorry.”

The Joe simply shrugs and leads York inside. Before he can take two steps inside Maya is in front of York, leaning on his legs, looking up at him with her tail wagging furiously. He leans down to pet her, which she seems to enjoy despite his gloved hand.

“Sorry about that. You can ignore her, she constantly wants attention.”

“Oh she’s no problem. It’s been way too long since I’ve been around dogs.”

While continuing to pet her he takes his helmet off and looks around. The backdoor leads directly into the kitchen with clean black tiled floors, light grey stone counters, some type of red wood cabinets, and relatively new looking appliances.

"Nothing fancy, I know."

"I think it’s great. Though, right now anything with a roof seems fantastic to me."

Through the archway on his left York can see the dining room containing a small wooden table with a chair at each side. The set appears to be old, but the only indication is the style, because otherwise it looks brand new. In contrast the floor tiles are littered with scratches, which York assumes are Maya's doing.

"Is that you, Joe?" an unfamiliar feminine voice calls out from somewhere upstairs.

"Yes dear, and I've brought home a guest. Why don't you come meet him?"

The woman doesn't answer, but they hear the light creaking of footsteps a few seconds later.

"Oh my," she says as she sees York wearing his suit of armor, minus the helmet.

"I apologize, ma'am. I haven't had a chance to take the armor off yet."

"That's quite alright dear, you just caught me off guard. It’s just that Joe doesn't usually hang around military types...not that there's anything wrong with people in the military," she says, her cheeks turning red as she looks away from him.

York simply laughs. "I'm York by the way," he tells her once she's recovered.

"Margret. It’s nice to meet you," she replies, extending a hand which York shakes.

"York's been having some...financial problems since returning from the war," Joe tells her. "I met him while at lunch with the guys, and well, I sort of hired him."

"So you finally caved," she says before turning to York, "you must have really impressed him. I've been trying to convince him to find some help for nearly two years."

"It just felt right," Joe shrugs.

"He offer you our spare room?" Margaret asks. York nods, "good."

"I was just about to show him around the place."

"Carry on, then. I need to check on the chickens anyway," she says, going around York and out the back door.

"I like her."

Joe leads them into the living room where York first sees a relatively large flat screen television hanging on the far wall, next to the front door. On the right side of the door is a mat cluttered with various shoes, mostly boots, along with a coatrack with only two light jackets hanging from it. On the wall to the right is a staircase to the second floor, and on the opposite side of the room is a door leading to a bathroom.

“This one’s only got the essentials. The one upstairs has the shower and everything,” Joe tells him and then leads him up the stairs. At the very top is the second bathroom, and down the hall to the right is the master bedroom. Joe opens the door for York to peer inside and see the clean room with only a large bed, a bedside table on each side, a desk complete which chair and computer, and a closet along the right wall. Finally Joe takes York to the last room in the small hallway. It has a dark wood floor that contrasts the light blue walls and is completely empty except a bed and a couple of boxes.

“I’ll get those boxes out of here right away. And I’ll have Margaret get sheets on your bed after supper,” Joe says as he picks up a box.

“I can move them, if you tell me where to put them,” York offers.

“I’ve got this one, but if you want to take the other you’re more than welcome. I’m just going to throw them in the attic anyway,” Joe says and walks out across the hall, placing the box on the ground to pull down the ladder from the ceiling. In another minute both boxes were put away and the attic closed back up. “Feel free to relax, and make yourself at home. You don’t start work ‘til the morning. Just be ready to eat in about an hour,” he adds looking at his watch.

“Sounds good, boss. When do I get a tour of the rest of the place?” York asks.

“No need to call me boss.”

“Force of habit from my old job, sorry.”

“Ah,” he says nodding. “Well, I can show you around after dinner if that’s alright with you.”

“That’d be great.”

“And if you’re feeling comfortable, feel free to take your armor off.”

York nods and Joe walks away. _You’ve been awfully quiet,_ York thinks to Delta. York drops his bag to the floor and closes the door for some privacy.

_“I’ve merely been observing and have not noticed anything worth bringing to your attention.”_

_So what do you think? Is it safe enough to take off my armor?_

_“My calculations show that the odds of getting attacked without your armor here is about 20%.”_

_Good enough for me. Besides, I’ll still be able to talk to you the whole time._

_“I will be able to warn you if I sense trouble in time, yes. However, I cannot do anything to protect you if something goes wrong.”_

_I’ll be fine,_ York thinks as he starts undoing his armor. He gently piles each piece by the far wall until he’s down to his under armor. _It already feels wrong._

_“It will take time to adjust.”_

_I know, I know._ York rummages through his bag for the only regular outfit he has to his name, as though having it ready to put on right away will make him safer. Delta does not comment on how illogical this notion is. York quickly peels off his under armor, dropping it to the floor and hurriedly pulls on his pants, then his shirt. Then he walks over and sits on the edge of his sheet-less bed, facing the wall.

_“What is it like?”_

_Weird, D. I don’t know how long I can do this._

Delta doesn’t respond as York lays down, putting his hands under his head and closing his eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York gets to know his hosts a little better and gets a tour of the barnyard.

_“York, you need to wake up,”_ Delta says, and York begins to stir. _“You’re being called to dinner.”_

_Thanks, D,_ York thinks as he opens his eyes. He sits up and stretches before getting up and walking downstairs, trying to hold back a yawn. Margret turns to look at him from the kitchen counter when she hears him walking through the living room.  

“Oh, good, there you are,” she says. “We were worried you had run off or something.”

“Nah, just fell asleep.”

“I see you decided to take off your armor after all.”

“Yeah, the dinner table’s really no place for it. Though, I apologize in advance if I smell. I don’t get to shower as much as I’d like and well, these clothes aren’t exactly fresh.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, dear, we live on a farm, and as much as I love those animals, they sure do stink sometimes,” she laughs. “Go on and take a seat, food’ll be right out.”

He walks past her into the dining room to see that three of the place settings have plates and silverware already on them. He goes around the table and sits in the chair facing the door.

_“Are you concerned there will be trouble during dinner?”_ Delta asks.

_No, D. Just a habit._

Joe walks through the backdoor a moment later, kisses Margret’s cheek and grabs a beer from the fridge before turning to York.

“You want one?” he asks, lifting the bottle a little.

“Oh no. I couldn’t possibly—“

“Do you really not want one, or are you being difficult? You’re more than welcome to one.”

“Alright, sure I’ll take it.”

Joe grabs another beer and walks over to the table handing York a bottle before taking a seat to York’s right. A moment later Margaret carries in a large pot, setting it in the center of the table. The contents are indistinguishable through the metal lid, but the smell promises something delicious. Margret walks back into the kitchen to bring in a couple smaller dishes: one overflowing with rolls, the other a mixture of green and yellow beans.

“Guests first,” Joe says, taking the lid off the pot to reveal the spaghetti inside. York scoops a decent sized portion onto his plate before handing it off to Margaret. They all take the food they want and eat in silence for several minutes.

“This is amazing,” York finally says, and Margaret smiles at him.

“Old family recipe. It might be a little old fashioned, but we think it’s worth it.”

“I’ve never had anything like it,” York says, and they all resume eating.

“So, what did you do before this job, York?” Margaret asks after a few bites.

“Dear, I told you not to grill him,” Joe says, sighing.

“I’m just curious,” she says, looking at York to add, “I’m sorry, never mind.”

“It’s quite a long story, and perhaps I’ll tell you sometime, but for now I’d feel better leaving my past in the past.”

“Let’s talk about the present then. How do you like the place so far? I know it’s nothing fancy, but for us its home.”

“I’ve only gotten to see the house really, but I love how peaceful it is here,” York answers, and Joe laughs.

“I doubt you’ll still think its peaceful here once I put ya to work, but we can take a tour of the rest of the place after we eat,” Joe says.

“Well, I guess we have two different definitions of peaceful. I think this change of pace will be good for me,” York replies.

“Oh, right,” Joe says, continuing to eat without saying anything further.

York is the first to finish eating a few minutes later. “I could get used to this,” he says, leaning back and putting his hands behind his head. “Oh, where are my manors? What do you do with dirty dishes?” he asks, sitting back up, “you use a dishwasher or do it by hand?”

“I know I said the meal was old fashioned, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a dishwasher,” Margret answers, grinning.

York puts his hands up in surrender before standing up and taking his plate into the kitchen, placing it into an empty spot in the dishwasher. Walking back over, he picks up his beer and takes the last remaining sip. At the same time Joe stands and puts his plate away before taking York’s bottle and tossing it into the recycling bin under the sink.

“You ready to see the rest of the place before it gets dark?”

York nods and follows Joe outside. _Wow it’s gotten really cold out here,_ York thinks.

_“Actually the temperature has only decreased a few degrees from earlier, it merely feels that way due to your lack of armor,”_ Delta corrects.

_Oh, right. I feel naked._

_“You are well inside standard social acceptan—“_

_I know, D. It just feels uncomfortable to me._

_“I will do what I can to assist while you remain in this state.”_

_Thanks, D._ York’s next thought is interrupted as they reach the side of the corral across from the house, and Joe turns to him.

“This is our main pasture, most of our horses are let out here nearly every day. I’ll talk to you more about that tomorrow. You’ll also be in charge of ensuring that the fences are intact, and that they’re repaired when they aren’t.”

“Sounds easy enough.”

“That’s the boring stuff, though. Come on, let’s go check out the barn,” Joe says, leading the way up the driveway, sliding one of the large double doors open enough for them to get inside. York begins looking around at the clean cement floor and the large wooden stalls as Joe walks up to the horse on their left. It had immediately reached its head over the partition, hoping for attention, or more likely, treats. York watches as his host reaches up, patting the horse’s brown neck, saying, “I don’t have anything for you, but maybe York does.”

“Huh? But I don—“

“Come here,” Joe cuts him off. As York takes a couple small steps closer, Joe asks, “what, you aren’t afraid of them, are you?”

“Wha—no,” York scoffs, looking up at the animal to avoid meeting Joe’s eyes.

“Then get over here,” Joe says, laughing. “Besides, even if you are a bit nervous, Belle here wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

York steps up, but stays behind Joe’s shoulder. “I really don’t have anything to feed her though,” he says.

“Here,” Joe says, reaching into his jacket’s pocket, producing a large carrot. He snaps about a third of it off and hands it to York. “Just hold it out flat in your palm and she’ll take it without nibbling your fingers,” he instructs.

“I thought you said—“ York starts, taking a small step back as Belle looks at him expectedly.

“She won’t bite. It’s just difficult to tell between fingers and carrots if they’re too close together,” Joe says, putting a hand on York’s back, half to reassure him, half to keep him from fleeing further.

“Alright,” York says, looking down at the carrot in his hand, adjusting it to be as far from his fingers as possible without dropping it. He holds it out, taking a step forward, just enough for Belle to stretch out her neck and grab the carrot in her lips. She starts crunching it loudly as York puts his arm down, sighing as though he’d just survived a bullet wound.

_“Which ironically you’ve done before,”_ Delta reminds him. York ignores him and looks back at Joe, giving the man his best I-totally-wasn’t-freaking-out smile.

“Go ahead and pet her,” Joe grins, calling York’s silent bluff. “Just avoid quick movements, especially around her face, and she’ll be fine,” he adds.

York walks closer, careful to keep the horse on his good side, reaching his arm up slowly and placing it on her neck. When Belle stayed still York ran his fingers down her fur, watching closely for any signs of displeasure. _I didn’t expect them to be so soft,_ he thinks. _Man, ‘Lina would love this. It’s too bad she—_

_“York it would be wise—“_ Delta begins to say.

_“Yeah, D. I got it,_ York thinks, turning his focus back to petting Belle, which is surprisingly calming.

“I think she likes you,” Joe says after a few minutes. “And I can tell you like her too, but maybe we should check out the rest of the place before it gets too late,” he adds.

“Yeah, of course. Sorry,” York replies, dropping his arm from Belle slowly, his face turning slightly red.

“Don’t worry. I was hoping you’d bond with the horses, maybe even start working with them more,” Joe says, leading them down the aisle. “Now, I’ll show you the specifics of what you’ll need to do in the morning, but I’ll at least show you the basic layout,” he says, opening a normal wooden door halfway down the barn.

Along the left side of the stall-sized room are stacks of hay, tied together into neat rectangular bales. On the opposite side are various bags of horse feed with names of grains and oats on them, along with some buckets hanging above them. On the far wall is a ladder leading to the second floor of the barn, which York would guess holds more hay. Stepping in and looking around York also notices a chart on the wall beside the door, listing various names and amounts.

“If it isn’t clear, this is the feed room. The horses get fed twice a day, once in the morning right after we eat breakfast, and once at night just before supper. And that,” Joe says, nodding toward the chart York is facing, “is the list of how much each horse gets at each meal. Depending on their size and general health concerns they need different amounts. Belle for instance has had a weak digestive system all her life. She gets daily medication for it, but she still has to be given the least harsh grains to avoid problems.”

“I had no idea it was so involved, but I’m glad to see that you take good care of them,” York says.

“They really mean the world to us. But, come,” Joe says, opening the door, “let’s go check out the tack room.”

_The what room?_ York thinks as he follows Joe directly across the aisle to an identical door. Going inside York sees all four walls covered in saddles and bridles, each with a name above them.

“I don’t have time to ride the horses as much as I’d like to, but I’m hoping that you’ll be able to help with that eventually,” Joe says. Not giving York time to agree or not, he continues, “as you can see each horse has their own set of tack, which is not only easier for us to keep track of, but ensures maximum comfort for the horses too.”

_“It would appear that ‘tack’ is a word used to describe horseback riding equipment,”_ Delta says in York’s head.

_I think I got it, thanks, D._ Turning to look at Joe he says, “I’ve never ridden before, but I’d be willing to give it a shot. I jumped off a hundred story building during an operation once, how hard can sitting on a horse be?”

“You what?” Joe’s eyes widened a bit before adding, “I mean I guess with the armor and all…still that’s crazy. I don’t think riding is quite so dangerous, but it does require a lot of attention and practice.”

York laughs, and follows Joe back out into the barn. They quickly walk outside to the chicken coop where Joe explains some of what Margaret does to take care of them before they head back into the house just as the sun is setting.

“Make sure you’re up for breakfast at 6:30 if you plan to eat before feeding the horses at 7,” Joe says, taking off his boots.

York follows suit before heading upstairs to his room. The bed is now made with dark blue sheets, and there are two matching pillows leaning against the wall at its head. A couple of blankets are folded at the foot of the bed along with a pair of black pajama pants and a plain golden brown t-shirt. On top of the clothes is a note that reads, _Joe won’t miss these, please use them –M._ York smiles, gladly exchanging the clothes before getting into bed.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been doing a lot of thinking about Agent York and what may have happened in the gaps that the show leaves us with. I am also hugely in denial of York's untimely death, and had some ideas about how he could have survived. These things combined with my love of horses and writing spawned the inspiration for this work. I already have quite a few chapters finished, and the first few are all about setting up York's new lifestyle, which I hope will be interesting enough, but bear with me because they lead up to what I really want to write about, and that's the sequence of events that led to his current circumstances. I plan on including from his very first picked lock all the way to him being presumed dead and what he does with that situation. 
> 
> Any thoughts, concerns, suggestions, and questions are all welcome. At the moment I plan on updating once a week, but it may end up being more or less often depending on my motivation levels.


End file.
